


On A Saturday Night Somewhere

by waterofthemoon



Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, One Shot, PWP, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-21
Updated: 2010-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:30:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterofthemoon/pseuds/waterofthemoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and Steve are drunk after a Kane gig, and also, they are in love. Basically, this is porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On A Saturday Night Somewhere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unperfectwolf](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=unperfectwolf).



> Random post-show fic! This is mostly for **[unperfectwolf](http://unperfectwolf.livejournal.com/profile)**, who requested it, and **[canadiangoddess](http://canadiangoddess.livejournal.com/profile)**, who enabled it and has enabled most of our Kane endeavours, but it's also for the entire slash-loving Portland gigs contingent. ♥ You should probably also be aware that I totally wrote the first half of this in the car on the way home from the April show on a pocket-sized notepad. XD Thanks to **[sophie_448](http://sophie-448.livejournal.com/profile)** for the beta! (Also, I would normally avoid pilfering their lyrics for titles, but, well, relevant song is completely and transparently relevant.)

They get back to Chris's place around two. Steve's still riding the high from the show; Chris is a little more subdued, but he lets Steve push him back against the door and bite at his mouth.

"You looked so fucking hot out there tonight," Steve murmurs. "Gonna let me fuck you?"

Chris gives him a lazy grin and grinds his hips against Steve's. "Fuck, man, you know you don't gotta ask."

They always do this. It's as much a part of the post-gig routine as packing up the gear and finishing Chris's bottle of Jack before they send the rest of the guys home, something that stretches back over a decade of playing together, no matter who else they happen to be seeing at the time. What the fuck ever, right? Chris is _Chris_, and Steve's not passing that up for the sake of some girl he'll probably hate in the morning, no matter how hot she is.

Chris is directing the kiss now, making it slow and hot, and it's awesome, but Steve's too wired for slow right now. He starts tugging on Chris's hand, trying to get him to take this somewhere more interesting, but Chris shakes his head.

"Fuck the bedroom." Chris's eyes are bright in the darkness, and Steve can taste the whiskey on his breath. "Couch is closer."

Steve slips a leg between Chris's and bites his neck, watching Chris's eyes fall shut as he leans back against the door. "Pretty much what I was thinking."

They stumble into the living room of the condo, still kissing and groping. They're both sticky with drying sweat, and Steve's hand slips on Chris's back as he slides it down the back of his jeans.

"You are way too fucking overdressed right now," Steve grumbles, pulling back a little to tug at Chris's belt. Chris takes complete advantage and pushes him back on the couch.

"Could say the same about you," Chris says as he climbs on top of Steve. He grinds down hard, and Steve lets out a groan.

Chris attacks the buttons on Steve's shirt then—a couple go flying, but Steve really doesn't give a fuck. He shrugs out of it and peels Chris's t-shirt over his head. "Come on, fuck," Steve says. His hands are scattershot over Chris's bare skin, moving restlessly, and he pulls at Chris's belt again.

"Jesus Christ, hold on a second." Chris leans back a little, a clean line of clumsy grace, and slaps Steve's hands away before undoing his own jeans. Steve sits up enough to help push them down his hips, which is also a pretty decent angle to run his tongue across one of Chris's nipples. "_Shit_, goddamn."

Steve grins and sits back, kicking his shoes off onto the floor as Chris works both their jeans down. Then Chris is on him completely, tangling their tongues together and rubbing his dick against Steve's bare hip. Steve can feel the buzz rising under his skin again.

"Where's the lube?" he asks. Chris is so hot against him, and Steve needs to be inside him, like, right the fuck now.

Without looking, Chris digs around in the back of the couch before coming up with a familiar tube. "Right where you left it, man."

He hands it off to Steve, who slicks up his fingers and reaches around to Chris's ass. When he presses one finger inside, easy as anything, Chris moans and pushes back against him.

"More, c'mon," Chris says. His head is tilted back in pleasure, but he still manages to glare down at Steve. "Hurry the fuck up."

Steve doesn't have a single goddamn problem with that, and he slips another finger in and opens Chris up for him. Chris is so relaxed right now that it doesn't take much, and it's not long before Chris is leaning over the side of the couch and fishing the condom out of Steve's pocket.

The first few times they did this, they were brand fucking new and high on the buzz of their first shows, no clue what they were doing with the music or with each other. When they started actually attracting fans, there was an element of possession, the idea of taking and having what everyone else wanted.

Steve still thinks about that sometimes, especially now that he's essentially playing backup to Chris again, but now it's mellowed into something more tangible, like Steve can almost taste it the way he leans up now and tastes the sweat on Chris's collarbone when Chris sinks down hard on his dick. It's a weird feeling. Steve's not really sure what to do with it, but he does know how to handle Chris, and he thrusts up into Chris's ass, groaning at how good it feels.

"_Fuck_, Steve," Chris mutters. Steve's completely fascinated by the way he's biting his lower lip as he fucks himself languidly on Steve's cock.

Steve shifts his hips, trying to make Chris move faster. "Come on, fuck," he urges. "I need—" He thrusts up hard, and Chris just holds on, gripping his bicep right where the feathers on his tattoo hit. He doesn't pick up the pace any, and Steve narrows his eyes.

Chris laughs a little. "All right, man." His voice is a little raw and smoky, vowels slipping every which way. "I know what you need." Then he slips his other hand under Steve's back, and before Steve even knows it's happening, Chris is the one on his back, and Steve is looking down into his eyes.

"Whoa," Steve says. "Did I know you could do that?"

Chris just grins. "Just fuck me, Jesus fucking Christ. You gotta question everything?"

Steve definitely doesn't need to do that as much as he needs to be back inside Chris, and he pushes in again, loving the look on Chris's face. He gets a steady rhythm going, Chris's grunts and cussing a staccato beat to Steve fucking him into the couch—it feels so goddamn _good_, and Steve gets his hand on Chris's cock, which Chris has been trying to grind against Steve's stomach. "Yeah, you like that," he murmurs, thrusting in hard. "You like it when I make you feel so good?"

Chris looks like he wants to tell him again that his dirty talk sucks—which, whatever, if Chris doesn't like it, he can kick Steve out—but then Steve twists his hand just right, and Chris groans and lets his head fall back.

"Steve, fuck," Chris manages. They're both so close to tipping over the edge, and when Steve presses at Chris's balls, Chris lets out a shout and comes messily all over both of them, his ass clenching around Steve's cock. Steve groans and kisses Chris hard, and he gets in a couple more good thrusts before he's spilling into the condom and feeling the adrenaline bleed out of him.

Steve pulls out and tosses the condom into the trash can that Chris probably left by the couch just for this purpose, and then they stay on the couch for a few minutes. He presses sloppy kisses to Chris's jaw as Chris wraps an arm around his back and runs fingers through his sweaty hair. When Steve starts using his teeth, though, Chris kicks his shin.

"Come on, come to bed. I'm fucking tired as fuck." He looks it now, loose limbs and strung-out muscles. It's almost unconscious for Steve to rest a hand on Chris's shoulder as they stumble off the couch and make their way down the hall. "You got a flight in the morning?" Chris asks, not even bothering with the light before flopping down on his unmade bed.

Steve stretches out on the bed next to him, and Chris rolls over to throw an arm across his waist. "Nah," Steve says, wrapping an arm around him. This is pretty damn familiar, too. "I was gonna, but I don't actually have anywhere to be for once. I mean, unless you had plans that didn't involve eating my food and being fucked into the mattress."

Chris elbows him a little and insinuates himself closer against Steve's side. "Fucker," he says, grinning into Steve's skin. "Go to sleep."

Steve feels like he should have a comeback to that, but he's actually really tired, so he just squeezes Chris's arm and rolls over. He can figure it out when they wake up.


End file.
